


a photograph you carry like a future in your back pocket

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always wondered what this day would be like when it came – had always imagined it would feel a bit like being punched very hard in the stomach. She was right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the very things that one day leave

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place somewhere between 8x02 and 8x04. Story title from Photograph by Andrea Gibson. Chapter title from Mid Air by Paul Buchanan.

She knows him instantly, though she’s never seen this particular face before. That _I always know where I’m going swagger_ , his movements too energetic and spry for a man his age, the pretty young girl at his side. It’s definitely him.

 

River wades through the terminal, hefting her dusty bag over her shoulder. She only just returned from a dig, her back still sore from crouching in the dirt, her tan still new and sand in places it shouldn’t be. A shower in one of the TARDIS’ luxurious bathrooms sounds like the perfect way to end her day. She cranes her neck to see above the crowd and almost loses him in the sea of people, keeping a close eye on that gray head – oh she can’t wait to tease him about that. “Sweetie!”

 

He freezes, head tilted, blue eyes darting through the crowded terminal, searching. River finally manages to bully her way to where he stands with his companion, breathless but grinning as she reaches him. He watches her approach warily, his companion wide-eyed next to him.

 

“Hello, my love.” She leans up on her toes and presses a swift kiss to his cheek. “Like the new face.”

 

He stares at her, brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

 

She laughs, realizes he’s actually serious, and almost apologizes for approaching a complete stranger before she looks at him – really looks at him. Those eyes are a different color but they’re still just as old as they’ve always been. She knows it’s him. And he knows her. This is not a face before he met her. She has pictures of all those faces in the likely event she might need to avoid him or in most cases, make him forget all about her with a drugged kiss. She blinks and licks her lips, gazing at him with horror rising in her chest. “You – you don’t know me?”

 

He looks right through her, eyeing her like she’s a madwoman who probably sleeps on a bench in the terminal. “Should I?”

 

She always wondered what this day would be like when it came – had always imagined it would feel a bit like being punched very hard in the stomach. She was right. Rapidly blinking away the sting of tears that rushes to her eyes, River breathes, “Yes, you should.”

 

The girl at his side – tiny, adorable, with kind, wide brown eyes – lays a hand on his arm and steps forward. “It isn’t his fault. He had a bit of a traumatic regeneration. Forgot all sorts of things.”

 

The Doctor scowls, gesturing to River carelessly.

 

Her hearts clench in her chest.

 

“You know her?”

 

“Of course I do, she’s your -”

 

River clears her throat. “We’ve met before?”

 

“What?” The girl’s eyes widen and she pastes on a bright smile. “Right, sorry. Time travel.” She holds out a small hand for River to shake. “Clara. Clara Oswald.”

 

River shakes her hand, her eyes sliding to the Doctor to find him already looking back. He’s so different now, his face older and wearier, lined with age. Somehow, she can still see her husband in this man. He just can’t seem to see her anymore. His eyes lack the warmth they usually hold when he looks at her and she feels suddenly small and insignificant under his gaze. He studies her like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite understand or even why he wants to understand her at all. It’s almost familiar but she was never just a puzzle to her Doctor.

 

“Right,” Clara says slowly, and the Doctor tears his eyes from River to look at her, expression softening instantly. “Maybe we should go back to the TARDIS?”

 

River nods before the Doctor can answer. “Maybe we should.”

 

The Old Girl remembers her – she always does, even long after everyone else has forgotten. She offers the same welcoming hum as River steps through her doors, doing her best to comfort her child because her thief cannot. Clara shuts the doors behind them, hovering in the background while River walks further into the ship, the Doctor trailing behind her. The interior has changed but it’s still warmer than the settings he chose just after the loss of her parents. She takes it as a good sign, stepping up to the controls and running a gentle hand over the console.

 

_Hello, dear_.

 

The TARDIS offers a sweet little nudge, a light caress of golden light across her mind.

 

River smiles.

 

The Doctor, who has yet to stop stealing searching glimpses of her every time he thinks she isn’t looking, steps up to the console with her, wearing a savage frown. “My ship knows you.”

 

“Of course she does.” River drops her hand and her smile, turning to look at him solemnly.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because she doesn’t forget the people she loves.”

 

_Unlike you._

 

He squints at her. “My TARDIS loves _you_?”

 

“Why wouldn’t she?”

 

“Your hair looks like it could hold small planets, your nose is too big to be pretty and you’re far more smug than any human has a right to be.”

 

River swallows painfully, forcing a smile. “I grow on you.”

 

He scoffs, turning to fiddle with the controls. “Well who are you then? Out with it.”

 

“Professor River Song. University of -”

 

“To me,” he snaps in that thick Scottish brogue, and how Amy would have loved it. “Who are you to me?”

 

She tilts her head, eyes tracing over his beloved face, and smiles sadly. “Spoilers.”

 

His eyes flicker, a faint spark of recognition, and her breath catches in her throat. Then just as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes and he’s left scowling at her. “Fine, keep your secrets. If I can’t remember it must not have been terribly important.”

 

River drops her eyes so he won’t see her flinch and behind them, she hears Clara’s soft gasp and a scolding _Doctor!_ The TARDIS hums under her feet, consoling her in her own quiet way. The Doctor notices and his blue eyes turn sharp.

 

“My love.”

 

For a moment, she thinks he’s calling her that.

 

“You called me _my_ _love_. Were you more than a friend, then?”

 

That one little word – _were_ – is like a knife sliding through her ribs but River refuses to let it show, blank expression never wavering. “You tell me. I called you _sweetie_ first and you stopped like it was your name. Why?”

 

He bristles like she just prodded her finger into an old wound that never truly healed. “Always been a sucker for pet names. Or madwomen. At least I think I was. Hard to say.”

 

“Not madwomen. Just psychopaths.”

 

“Is that what you are?”

 

“Takes one to know one.”

 

“Two psychopaths in one TARDIS?” He raises his brows and despite herself, she can’t help being amused. He certainly overcompensated this go round. “How cozy.”

 

“I always thought so.”

 

“Should warn you, this face doesn’t flirt.”

 

“Then you’re doing a remarkable impression.” She smirks when he narrows his eyes at her. “What’s the matter? Too old now?”

 

“Too old even for you, Mrs. Robinson.”

 

Her smile fades slowly, slipping right off her face under his watchful gaze. “I’m even older than I look.” Eyes on the console, River stares at his hand poised over a lever – older and smaller but the fingers still long and elegant, still perfectly capable of reducing her to mush should he so choose. His rings, golden and shining, catch the light and she swallows. “Are you married, Doctor?”

 

“Why? Are you in the market?”

 

“I just – your ring. It’s lovely.”

 

“Ah.”

 

He joins her in studying it, oddly detached for a man who can’t remember wedding the woman who wears an exact copy of that ring on a necklace beneath her clothes. He gave her the one with the swirling gold stone on their 100th wedding anniversary, keeping the slimmer gold band for himself and explaining in that soft, gentle voice that he’d infused hers with his favorite memories of her and any time she wanted to see them, all she had to do was hold it and close her eyes. Half of her wonders why he has it now and the other half of her already knows.

 

“Don’t know where it came from. Tried taking it off but it felt a bit strange.”

 

“Maybe one day you’ll remember why.” He looks at her oddly, glancing between her and the ring. She forces a bright smile. “Until then, I’ll just get out of your hair.”

 

His expression changes, like he hadn’t been expecting such a quick exit, but River knows her own limitations and keeping it together for much longer is out of even her reach. She adjusts her bag over her shoulder and pauses for a moment, studying him. The Doctor stares back, like he doesn’t want her to go and cannot quite figure out why. River smiles shakily, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, to press a hand to his cheek and hold him to her until he remembers that she used to mean everything.

 

“You’re really not going to tell me who you are?”

 

She shakes her head. “I think you forgot for a reason.”

 

“Maybe.” His lips twitch into a faint, thoughtful smile, eyes hooded as he looks at her. “Or maybe you’re the only thing worth remembering.”

 

“Are you sure this face doesn’t flirt?”

 

His smile grows and his eyes _finally_ begin to glow with familiar warmth. “Exceptions can be made.”

 

“I’m flattered.” She smiles. “Goodbye, sweetie.”

 

He nods, still watching her curiously. “And you, my wee psychopath.”

 

Biting back an anguished sound of loss, she turns and strides away, walking quickly and hoping to escape before she breaks. She can hear the soft footfalls of Clara behind her, scurrying after her with a hissed, “River, wait!”

 

“I have to go.” She dashes an annoyed hand under her eyes, sniffing once.

 

Clara catches up with her surprisingly quickly, snatching her wrist and tugging her to a halt. “River, it’s not just you! He forgot everything for a while – my name, Vastra and Jenny, even how to fly the TARDIS!”

 

River whirls to face her. “But he remembered those things eventually.”

 

“Well, yes.”

 

“He still doesn’t remember me.”

 

“But he could if you just -”

 

River smiles sadly. “He chose to forget me, Clara.”

 

“No, he wouldn’t -”

 

She huffs out a soft, pained laugh. “That man’s mind is like a computer. Apparently I caused it so much trauma it chose to delete my memory when it rebooted rather than restore it. I suppose I should feel flattered.”

 

Clara grips her wrist, small fingers biting into her skin as she looks up at River desperately, like a little girl who doesn’t want her parents to split up. “He couldn’t even bear to mention you he loved you so much. He still does, even if he can’t remember.”

 

Slipping her wrist from Clara’s grasp, River takes her small hand between both of her own and squeezes gently. “Take care of him for me?”

 

Brown eyes wide and filled with tears, Clara nods slowly, letting River slip away. “Of course I will.”

 

-

 

After she leaves them, there is only one place she can think of to go. Home.

 

Fishing her vortex manipulator out of her bag, River straps it around her wrist and clumsily types in the coordinates, eyes blurring. She lands huddled next to the console in a brighter, warmer TARDIS, filled with whirring noises and lights, the Ponds bickering down the corridor.

 

A soft hand taps the top of her head and she looks up, blinking away tears to find her young, adoring husband gazing down at her with concern. “Drop in for a visit, honey?”

 

She stifles the urge to outright sob at the familiarity in his eyes, nodding as she scrambles to her feet and throws her arms around him. He smells like he should and his arms wrap around her instantly, holding her tight against him, chin fitting over her shoulder and fingers on her hips like they belong. “My Doctor.”

 

“Of course I am.” He nudges his nose against her curls. “Always. What’s this then?”

 

Just as quickly as she’d embraced him, River pulls out of his arms and slaps him, the sound of her palm meeting his cheek echoing in the empty console room. He jerks to the side in surprise, pressing a hand to his smarting cheek with a pained grunt. Her chest heaves with emotion as she stares at him, eyes stinging.

 

Slowly, he straightens and gapes at her, hazel eyes wounded and her handprint a red outline on his dear face. “What was that for?!”

 

She doesn’t answer, hauling him to her by his braces and covering his mouth with her own. He makes a muffled noise of surprise before his eyes drift shut and he holds her close, melting into her kiss with ease, as if she hadn’t just slapped him silly. Her kiss is biting and full of desperation but he’s as tender with her as ever, cradling her to him like she is far too precious not to handle with great care.

 

River leans her forehead against his, trembling in his arms, and tries to breathe in deeply. She is home where she belongs, with a Doctor who knows her and her parents just down the hall. She is safe and loved and remembered.

 

“Not that I’m complaining, dear, but -”

 

“Promise me,” she interrupts firmly, eyes flying open to meet his.

 

He blinks owlishly, then softens. “Anything.”

 

“Promise you won’t forget me.”

 

He huffs out a soft laugh, gazing down at her with warring expressions of amusement and fondness. Taking her face between large, gentle palms, he looks directly into her eyes and sighs, smiling indulgently. “Oh, River Song. Who could ever forget you?”


	2. i think i see you everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River was right, he knows she was – he forgot her for a reason. Likely a very good reason. He should keep it that way. He won’t, of course. But he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title still from Mid Air by Paul Buchanan.

He looks up as Clara comes stalking back into the TARDIS, scowling like a miniature dark cloud. Too busy trying not to smile – she probably genuinely believes she looks threatening – he doesn’t have time to shield himself before she marches right up to him and shoves at his chest hard enough to send him stumbling back, her expression ferocious.

 

“You forgot her!” She stares at him like he’s disappointed her again and he tells himself it is that more than anything else that makes his stomach twist with regret. “How could you?”

 

“I don’t know,” he snaps, brushing her away with a frown. “Why don’t you ask the one who forgot? Maybe he’ll phone you again.”

 

He’d never admit it to Clara but for some reason, he’s almost as sorry to see his madwoman go as she is. Not a madwoman, he remembers, turning from Clara and her giant, outraged eyes to face the controls. A psychopath. And not his psychopath either – he doesn’t know why referring to her in the possessive sense comes so easily to him.

 

“ _He_ didn’t forget her.” Clara folds her arms over her chest. “He remembered her until the day he died. _You_ are the coward who couldn’t anymore.”

 

He trails his fingertips over the edge of the console, pointedly skipping his eyes over the ring on his finger.

 

_Are you married, Doctor?_

 

“I’m sure I had my reasons.”

 

Clara stares at him, tears swimming in her eyes. “You’ve broken her heart.”

 

He swallows back guilt he doesn’t understand, steeling himself. “Whoever she was to me, Clara, the Doctor who knew her is gone. It’s easier this way.”

 

She scoffs, turning from him with a small, sorrowful shake of her head. “Easier for who?”

 

He drops Clara off at home shortly after that, the atmosphere of fun and adventure stolen by the curly-haired mystery’s appearance. The Doctor watches Clara walk to her door, her shoulders hunched and her steps slow. She looks a bit like a kicked puppy, as though she is the one he’d gone and forgotten. She turns at her front door, biting her lip. “You’ll be back soon?”

 

He dips his head, managing a smile. “Oh, eventually.”

 

With an understanding nod, Clara slips into her home and shuts the door behind her.

 

The Doctor turns on his heel, strides up to the console and does not hesitate before punching in his next coordinates. For all of his bravado, the one thing he cannot stand is not knowing – well, that and being wrong in public, which seems to be an unfortunate occurrence in this regeneration. Not knowing makes him feel human. He’s quite through with feeling human this go round.

 

He’ll go to Vastra. If anyone can tell him what he’s forgotten, it’s her.

 

The TARDIS lands gently and he steps out expecting to see cobbled streets and London smog. Instead, he is met with the sight of an empty beach in the late afternoon gloom. The water looks more gray than blue today, crashing against the shore and licking the sandy toes of a lone little girl – a tiny bit of a thing in a threadbare dress, her mop of red hair dancing in the wind.

 

The Doctor turns to scowl at his ship and receives little more than a mental nudge in return. “Two thousand years old,” he grumbles, stalking over sand dunes and down the beach, “And still being shepherded about like a toddler to play dates.” He comes to a stop beside the little girl, heedless of the waves lapping at the toes of his boots. “Hello.” He mumbles gruffly, still clinging to his resentment.

 

The girl barely blinks, glancing at him blankly. “Is it time to go already? We just got here.”

 

He stares. “Go?”

 

She nods, tilting her head up to look at him with weary resignation entirely out of place on a child.

 

He swallows. “No. Not yet.”

 

She looks relieved, turning back to stare at the churning sea. The Doctor studies her quietly. There is something about her that tugs at his memory – the world-weary gentleness of her eyes, that slim nose and those ginger locks. If his Ponds had ever had a child, she’d look a bit like this, he imagines, and then roughly pushes the thought away.

 

“You look different from the others.”

 

“Others?” He sounds like a sodding parrot but the girl is like the Cheshire cat – all riddles and no sense. “What others?”

 

“My shadows.”

 

“You have more than one?”

 

He doesn’t know why the thought fills him with such genuine fear.

 

“I’ve got all kinds.” She points over his shoulder and he follows her gaze, turning.

 

Tall, slim creatures with bulbous heads tower over him and the girl. They’re nearly faceless, hollow-eyed and without mouths or noses. They’re reminiscent of a more hideous, deformed version of Lord Voldemort, only with better clothes. Startled because how had he not noticed them when he was walking up to the girl, the Doctor herds the little one behind him, blindly shielding her.

 

“I’ve seen you before.” He squints at them, some long forgotten memory tugging at his mind. “Where?”

 

They hiss, heads tilting in terrifying unison. The girl peers around him bravely and the Doctor turns automatically just to make sure she’s alright, just for a second and – forgets.

 

He frowns down at her. “I don’t see any shadows.”

 

She smiles sadly.

 

He huffs, crouching to look her in the eye. “Where are your parents?” She stares at him. “Mum? Dad?” Nothing. “The people who put you in time out when you’re being naughty?”

 

Her eyes flash with recognition. “Oh, that’s Auntie Kovarian.”

 

“Yes, fine. Where’s your auntie?”

 

She shrugs. “I don’t know but she’s always watching.” She peers at him cautiously, suddenly hesitant. “And she doesn’t like me talking to strangers.”

 

“Shouldn’t have left you on your own then,” he scolds, scanning the beach for anyone else.

 

“But she didn’t. I have my shadows.”

 

He sighs, gazing around the empty stretch of beach and back to the little girl peering up at him. “Of course you do.”

 

-

 

He thinks about the lonely little girl on the beach for weeks, his mind divided between her and the woman he forgot. The TARDIS had finally taken him to see Vastra, whose less than helpful advice had been: _“I’m sure it’ll come to you when you’re ready”_. This was followed by a worried glance shared with Jenny and then: _“What an interesting ring. Wherever did you find it?”_

As if he’d want to discuss jewelry when he has glaring holes in his memory – all of which are in the shape of a buxom mystery woman. The Doctor spins the ring on his finger mindlessly. He should forget all about this. He should put aside the ginger girl and River and just pick up Clara for another adventure. River was right, he knows she was – he forgot her for a reason. Likely a very good reason. He should keep it that way.

 

He won’t, of course. But he should.

 

The Doctor has never been very good at letting sleeping dogs lie and ever since River Song walked away from him, he hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that forgetting her was the worst mistake of this gray-haired old man’s life. Huffing out a resigned sigh, he leaps from his chair and into action, overcome with the need to do _something_. He’ll find her. He’ll find the madwoman and make her tell him who she is.

 

The TARDIS, as always, has other plans.

 

Funny, how infrequently his plans and hers coincide.

 

She spits him out in the middle of a preschool playground. Bloody kids again. He certainly hopes she isn’t trying to tell him River Song is his long lost daughter or something equally horrifying. He feels decidedly _un_ paternal when he thinks of his mysterious madwoman.

 

And there he goes again, referring to her as his. This regeneration is uncomfortably possessive of someone he doesn’t even remember, as if no matter what he can’t stand the idea of her belonging to anyone else.

 

Hands in his coat pockets, the Doctor strolls through the playground feeling entirely out of place – a darkly scowling, bony menace among the wee tots. He ignores curious stares and scans the yard for the reason he’s here. Perhaps it’s the little ginger girl again. He never did catch her name. He pauses beside the crudely drawn hopscotch pattern, scrutinizing the crowd of children nearby for a familiar face. She’d be younger now, but still recognizable –

 

“Oi, you’re in the way, Mister.”

 

He turns, finding a dark-skinned little girl with wide brown eyes scowling up at him. “In the way of what?”

 

“The weddings.” Another glance at the group of tiny people across the playground proves that they are indeed divided up into pairs. “Everybody’s getting married today.”

 

“Not you?”

 

She shakes her head vehemently, her dark braids swinging with the movement. “I’m going to throw mud at them when they kiss.”

 

He snorts. “Never been the marrying kind myself.” Settling onto the bench next to her, the Doctor stretches his legs out in front of him. Shorter this time, he notices with a frown. “They’re all happy now but by last bell, they’ll be divorced and squabbling over who gets custody of the crayon box.”

 

The girl giggles. “You’re funny.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Are too.”

 

“Am not – I’m Scottish now.”

 

Her brow furrows. “Can’t Scottish people be funny?”

 

“Oh no, lass. We’re complainers through and through.” She reaches out a small hand and pokes him. He eyes her finger with a frown. “What?”

 

“You said you weren’t married.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You have a ring.” She touches it with her fingertip and then looks up at him like he has somehow betrayed her. Her co-conspirator against matrimony is seemingly a fraud.

 

The Doctor stares down at the ring, wondering why everyone seems so fascinated with something he barely notices. “It’s not a wedding ring.”

 

The girl shrugs. “Looks like one.”

 

_Are you married, Doctor?_

 

“Well it isn’t, smartypants.” He nudges her away. “Now go on, be a sheep and get married like the rest of them.”

 

She squirms away from him, scowling savagely.

 

His eyes land on the other little girl across the playground, lurking on the outskirts of the mass ceremonies. Honestly, where is their teacher? A strange man on school property and underage marriages all occurring right under her incompetent nose. “Better yet, play with that lass over there. Doesn’t look like she wants to be married either.”

 

He glances at the girl again and does a double take, staring. Little Amelia Pond, younger than he’s ever seen but her still in that same red-knitted cap, scowling at the silly children playing grownups. There’ll be none of that for her – not for a good long while. She still has a lot of running to do.

 

The Doctor smiles and nudges the little girl next to him more gently this time. “She’ll look after you, that one.”

 

On the walk back to the TARDIS, he stops to glance back at the two little girls climbing the jungle gym together. They’re in the midst of conspiring to throw mud at the newlyweds, and he watches them for a long moment, wondering why he feels like the act of ushering two little tykes off to play feels so terribly important.

 

-

 

Like a sodding earworm he can’t quite shake, River Song never lets him have a moment’s peace. He hasn’t seen Clara in months. He can’t think of anything but what he doesn’t know, spending his days searching the TARDIS memory banks, searching for her face in crowds, growing more and more conscious of the ring on his finger.

 

The TARDIS isn’t quite so eager to give up the woman’s secrets as he is to discover them. He doesn’t know what to expect from the Old Girl anymore and he stops trying to gain even an inkling of understanding. He lets her take him where she will and goes along with it with only minimal grumbling until the night she drops him off at a raging University party on – he stops in the middle of shouting at her to sniff the air – the moon of all bloody places.

 

“This is _not_ the chippie in Gainsborough!” He kicks the TARDIS doors for good measure when she refuses to open them, scowling. “Clara was right – you are a grumpy old cow.”

 

The TARDIS grumbles something back at him that sounds a bit like _takes one to know one_.

 

He huffs, spinning on his heel and stalking away. His coat flares less about his knees this time around, which takes away some of the dramatic effect but he doesn’t gambol about like a baby deer just finding its footing so he supposes there’s always a silver lining.

 

The TARDIS had landed in the backyard of the house – a frat house judging by the horrific odor of beer, pizza, and vomit – so the Doctor trails around to the front in childish but adamant refusal to actually go inside. Amazing, humans are advanced enough to live on the moon but still haven’t figured out how to drink without puking.

 

He wrinkles his nose, feeling every one of his two thousand years, and drops onto a moderately clean lawn chair in front of the house. Even from out here, the pulsing music from inside thumps against his ears. The Doctor grimaces and does his best to block it out. He isn’t sure what sort of music he likes just yet but he knows this shite isn’t it.

 

Resting his elbows on his knees, he glares at the grass beneath his feet and tries to make some sort of reasonable connection between the little ginger girl and the girl on the playground – and what exactly the two of them have to do with River Song and whoever the hell she is to him. He can’t think of a damn thing. Maybe he has a slow mind to go with this slower body.

 

Further foul-tempered musings are interrupted as a group of rowdy frat boys stumble up the sidewalk toward the house, laughing raucously and already three sheets to the wind – all except the one lone female in their company. The Doctor freezes, spine straightening from his slump and hands clenching into fists.

 

It’s her. His wee psychopath.

 

She walks in four inch heels without stumbling once, shoving away her drunken companions with a roll of her eyes every time they try to lean on her for support. The hem of her short dress bounces merrily around her thighs, so much golden skin on display the Doctor feels something clench in his stomach. He watches in mesmerized silence as she sends all of her admirers away, shooing them into the party while she lingers outside, fishing through her tiny clutch purse.

 

She hasn’t noticed him just yet and he takes the time to study her further. The wildness of her curls, like her hair has a mind of its own. The sparkle of alcohol in her eyes. The way she carries herself with forced relaxation, like a soldier home from war who doesn’t know how to be around people anymore. She looks exactly the same as she had before – strong nose, full lips, regal bearing, those little lines around her eyes – but somehow, impossibly, she looks younger than the last time he’d seen her. River Song is an enigma and he can’t help wondering if he understood her even when he remembered her.

 

He stares as she slips a cigarette between her lips and lights up, still looking tense and uncomfortable as she huffs out a breath of smoke into the night air. The Doctor stops gaping at her long enough to force a smirk to his face and announce himself. “Nasty habit, that.”

 

She doesn’t jump like he expects her to. He knows she hadn’t seen him – she hasn’t looked at him once since she arrived – but she turns her head and zeroes in on his location with all the calmness of a sniper finding her target. He waits for recognition to light up her eyes but unlike the last time he saw her, she doesn’t seem to know it’s him beneath the new face. “Yes, I know.” She taps the ash from her cigarette. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

 

“Why do it then?”

 

The smile that lights up her face is unholy. “Himself will be ever so cross about it. If he ever decides to show up.”

 

“Ah.” Funny, he never thought of River having someone. Of course she would have someone. She’s – well, he just thought – hell, he doesn’t know what he thought. He can’t even remember her for Christ’s sake. “You mean your fella.”

 

She shrugs, the lovely slope of her shoulders still fraught with tension – wait, lovely? “Possibly.”

 

“Poor lad.”

 

She snorts, dropping her eyes and mumbling around her cigarette, “You have no idea.”

 

He hesitates, afraid to sound like he’s blatantly fishing, before deciding this body doesn’t really care about being blatant anymore. “Where is he? Your maybe-fella?”

 

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” River tips her head up, looking at the stars. “Wherever he is, it’s better than being at a little party with me.”

 

He eyes her for a long moment, something uneasy and sad caught between his ribs at the sight of her, so small and lost against the backdrop of the universe. “I very much doubt that, lass.”

 

Startled, she drops her gaze from the sky and turns to look at him, softening a little. “You don’t know him like I do. To be honest, I don’t know him either. I know stories. And I don’t even know which ones are true anymore.”

 

“Most stories have a bit of truth,” he reasons, watching in mild amusement as this younger, unsure River Song edges cautiously toward him, like an easily startled bird trying to make a new friend. The closer she gets, the more he catches her scent on the slight breeze. She positively reeks of time. He has no idea how he’d missed it during their last encounter.

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

“What sort of stories?”

 

“Oh, the usual.” River shrugs, her smile soft and bittersweet. “He’s a god or he’s a madman with a box. He’s a savior or he leaves a trail of blood behind him as he travels through the stars. He ruined my life or he saved it.”

 

His hearts leap into his throat and stay there. “And you’re afraid the bad stories are true?”

 

Grin rueful, River shakes her head. “I’m afraid it’s all true.”

 

“Why?”

 

She laughs suddenly, shaking her head and breaking whatever spell had fallen over them. She takes another long drag from her cigarette and he can’t look away. River Song loves him. He has no idea why it makes his chest ache so. He’d known it from the moment he first laid eyes on her in that train station terminal. Whoever she was, she loved him ferociously. He has a feeling he never quite understood why. He still doesn’t.

 

“Ignore me,” she says. “I’m drunk.”

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

Sodding hell, where had that come from?

 

Eyes widening in panic, he watches River lift a brow. “Are you flirting with me?”

 

“I don’t know.” He blinks at her, puzzled. “Didn’t realize this body could.”

 

Her mouth twists into a grin. “Sorry, I’ve already got one old man. Hardly need another.”

 

“Pity.”

 

“Your wife would say otherwise.”

 

He follows the line of her gaze to the gold band and ring on his finger. “I’m not married.”

 

Every time he says it, it feels like more and more of a lie.

 

“You don’t sound very sure about that.”

 

Before he can reply with something grumpy and Scottish to push her away, a familiar noise fills the air around them. He lifts his head with a snap, staring with a sense of abject terror as the TARDIS begins to materialize. River moves quickly, putting out her cigarette and tossing the butt over her shoulder, waving away the smoke in front of her face like a naughty teenager. Her whole face has lit up at the sight of the blue box in front of them.

 

After a moment, his former gangly man-child self bounds out of the TARDIS with a goofy grin directed at River. She returns it with none of the casual aloofness she’d displayed with her frat boy companions, grinning whole-heartedly in return as he lopes up to her side on long, bandy legs. “Hi, honey.”

 

“What sort of time do you call this?”

 

He frowns, ducking his head to check his watch, tapping the face. “Ah. Bit late, aren’t I?”

 

River glares. “Just a bit.”

 

“Sorry.” He grimaces. “I was going to be on time, I promise. But then there was running and jail and future you -”

 

“Shut up and kiss me hello, idiot.”

 

He salutes sloppily, still grinning like a lovesick fool as he leans in and kisses her softly. River tugs him into her and wraps her arms around his neck, fingers in his hair. He sways into her dreamily, arms flailing uselessly for a moment before finally settling on her hips. He isn’t smiling when she pulls away. Instead, he licks his lips and looks more like a scolding grandfather. “You’ve been smoking.”

 

River widens her eyes in faux innocence. “I haven’t!”

 

“I can taste it on you!” He wrinkles his nose, sticking out his tongue and grimacing dramatically. “Blech!”

 

River smacks him.

 

“Oi!”

 

She glares.

 

Still rubbing his arm, he eyes her in wounded silence. “Fine. Let’s get you a drink. I’m not snogging you again until I can’t taste tobacco anymore.”

 

“It’s your fault! You were late!”

 

“You can’t blame your smoking habits on my lateness!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it’s _rude_!”

 

Forgotten now that his younger self has arrived and stolen River’s attention, the Doctor watches the two of them bicker good-naturedly and the ache between his ribs yawns and widens, spreading to his chest and nestling between his hearts like a living thing. River Song loved him. But more importantly, he had loved River Song.

 

She pauses, resisting when her Doctor tries to lead her inside to the party. Slipping from his grasp, she turns to the gray-haired man who has kept her company and smiles, striding right up to him. She bends, pressing her warm, soft lips against the corner of his mouth, her hand closing gently over his, a gentle swipe of her thumb over the rings on his finger. The scent of time and cigarette smoke and something distinctly feminine envelops him. He sucks the smell of her into his lungs greedily and tells himself it means nothing. River removes her hand from his and settles it on his shoulder with a whispered, “Goodnight, Doctor.”

 

He stares at her in stunned silence as she winks and turns on her heel, walking back to his younger self, her hips swaying tantalizingly. She practically radiates smugness. The Doctor finally exhales. Bloody hell, no wonder he’d loved her.

 

As they walk away, his younger self hisses, “Who was that?”

 

“No one.” River leans her head against his shoulder. “Just an old friend.”

 

His younger self leads her up the steps with a hand at the small of her back and they both pause just outside the door, turning to look at each other. With a beaming grin, he proves himself incorrect by leaning in and kissing River again soundly, apparently not as bothered by the taste as he claimed. The Doctor watches himself kiss someone he has no memory of ever kissing before, feeling like an outsider watching someone else live his life.

 

River strokes a hand over his cheek, pulling back with a soft smile, and the Doctor feels something strange and protective surge within him. He wants to remember. More than anything else in the universe he wants to remember what it felt like to have his wee psychopath look at him like that. He wants to remember how it felt to be loved so violently. He can’t imagine why he ever wanted to forget in the first place.

 

As the two lovebirds slip into the frat house and disappear, the Doctor turns away and drops his gaze to the set of rings on his finger. The slim gold band, simple and innocuous. The more ostentatious ring stacked on top of it is the one to catch his eye, with its glittering green stone. It seems brighter than before. Almost… glowing. He has never truly looked at it but now that he is, the stone reminds him of the color of River’s eyes.

 

_Are you married, Doctor?_

 

Slowly, he slips the ring from his finger and stares, watching the stone start to churn like the beginning of a storm. Green and gold and silver swirl and coalesce, whirling together and sparkling like stardust. The Doctor peers into it with equal parts desperation and fear. He clutches the ring like a lifeline, gazing into the amassing storm within the stone, thinking inexplicably of River Song and – _closes his eyes_.

 

…Their first date, just after the Pandorica – he’d been a nervous, clumsy idiot and she hadn’t scolded him for trodding on her toes when they danced. He’d kissed her cheek goodnight and thought about the heat of her skin under his lips for days after….

 

… Curled around the softness of her curves on the floor in front of the fireplace in the TARDIS library, his head on her stomach and his eyes shut as her voice washes over him in all its sultry glory. It’s the sexiest retelling of _Origin of Species_ he’s ever heard and he smiles even as he starts to drift, feeling safe and content and _home_ …

 

…Standing in the twilight of the six suns of Anura and admiring her in the midst of battle, all sinewy muscles and lightning quick reflexes, whirling like a dervish in the exploding light of her sonic blaster. His very own warrior queen, eyes beautiful and alive with the glee of combat. He shouldn’t love it but oh how he does…

 

… The taste of her skin under his questing tongue, the spike of arousal that trembles all through him when she wraps her legs around his waist and arches _just_ like that. The slickness of sweat on her skin and how she moans when he touches her. Her scent surrounds him and the heat of her body leaves him tongue-tied and babbling his love into the crook of her neck. Nothing else in the universe has ever made him feel quite like this…

 

… The thrill of bickering with her and the frustration of never ever managing to win any of their disagreements but not caring in the slightest because she always grows exasperated and kisses him to shut him up and how can he find anything to complain about when her mouth is on his? …

 

... Watching her cradle someone else’s child to her, her eyes alight with a maternal affection he’d never seen before. The ache of longing in his chest, the absolute faith that a child could never have a better or a fiercer mother than River Song …

 

… How young she looks when she sleeps. She doesn’t look like a warrior or a weapon or even his precious bad girl. She is just River, curled around him and dreaming, showing him immense trust as she sleeps in his arms, guard down and mouth slack, snoring lightly. His hearts swell in his chest…

 

… Staring at her over the distress beacon atop a pyramid outside of time. The love and devotion on her face as she gazes back. She is so _young_. But he knows with stout certainty in his hearts that there will never be another. He belongs to her. And he will never have another moment’s peace if he doesn’t make her his in return…

 

… “I’ll make it a good one.”

 

“You’d better.” …

 

Still clutching the ring, the Doctor’s eyes fly open, the myriad of memories fading as he blinks. A gasp catches and rattles in his chest. His eyes sting. Feeling sick, he numbly bends to put his head between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. River. Melody Pond. Mels Zucker. _His_ River. How could he have forgotten?

 

_Are you married, Doctor?_

Yes _._


	3. for everything that life was worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how he loves her now or how much he says the good memories make up for all the bad, none of it was enough to make him remember. He chose to forget her and nothing will ever be able to make that right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last installment:) Chapter title still from Mid Air by Paul Buchanan.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

 

She has never been less sure of anything in her life but she smiles up at her Doctor, pretending like she doesn’t know he can see right through her. “I always am.”

 

He sighs, cupping her cheek in his hand, and River leans into the touch, closing her eyes when he brushes his thumb softly over her skin. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

 

“Spoilers.”

 

She opens her eyes just in time to see his own flash with pain. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t done it yet but I am so sorry for whatever I’m going to do to make you look at me like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

He swallows. “Like I’ve utterly shattered you and you can’t find all the pieces.”

 

River shakes her head, reaching up to clasp his hand. “Lucky for me you always know how to put me back together again, hm?”

 

Nodding slowly, the Doctor slides his hand reverently down the side of her face and along her throat, fingers inching beneath the collar of her shirt. She tilts her head to the side, letting him grasp the gold chain around her neck, pulling it out to reveal the ring looped through it. They both stare at it, remembering the day he gave it to her. “Whatever happens, this is what matters.” He closes their hands around the ring, looking up at her with smiling eyes. “The good memories are the only ones worth holding onto.”

 

“And you’ve given me so many, my love.” She clasps a hand around the back of his neck and draws his mouth down to hers for a gentle kiss. “Stop worrying about the others. I’ll be fine.”

 

He eyes her, clearly still unsure.

 

She rolls her eyes, pushing him away playfully. “Go on then, have an adventure and get out of my sight, old man.”

 

He dusts off his coat. “I’m going.” He shakes a finger at her, smirking. “But I’ll be back soon.”

 

“Where have I heard that before?”

 

“Oi, rude.” He grins, turning and loping off to his TARDIS on her front lawn, twirling to look at her once he reaches the door. “See you in a bit.”

 

She bites her lip, curling a hand tightly around her porch railing, hating herself for sounding almost pleading as she replies, “Don’t forget.”

 

He scoffs. “Never.”

 

She sinks onto her porch steps and watches his ship fade away, every moment he’s gone leaving her hearts emptier than before. Without him here to distract her, her mind turns at once to thoughts of another Doctor, one who couldn’t recall her name or her face, one who would never look at her with such shining love in his eyes. No matter how he loves her now or how much he says the good memories make up for all the bad, none of it was enough to make him remember. He chose to forget her and nothing will ever be able to make that right.

 

Feeling bitter numbness seeping into her bones and around her hearts, River shuts her eyes and leans her head against the porch railing, trying to gather the strength to get up and go inside. If he actually does come back, it won’t do for him to find her still sitting here and near tears.

 

Just as she thinks she might be able to stand without her knees giving out from under her, she hears the soft creak of her front door swinging open. She stiffens but doesn’t turn around at the sound of booted footsteps, her eyes flying open in shock at a gruff Scottish voice grousing, “Is this what I have to look forward to? You running off every time I forget you?” He huffs noisily. “I’m _old_ , River Song. It _happens_!”

 

River stumbles to her feet and turns around, gaping at the sight of a familiar gray-haired man standing on her porch and scowling in disapproval. “You -” She stops when her voice wavers, clearing her throat. “You remember?”

 

“Course I do. You’re the jumping off buildings one.” He waves a hand at her. “Melody Pond. River Song. Daughter of Amy and Rory Williams. My infuriating wife.”

 

She doesn’t move, staring at him in tentative hope.

 

He swallows, eyes darting briefly away from her and looking suddenly nervous when he meets her gaze again. “And I love you just as much as ever, my wee bespoke psychopath.”

 

Bespoke. 

 

He does remember.

 

River nearly flies up the steps and leaps into his arms with a choked cry. He stumbles when he catches her, steadying them both against her front door. His wiry arms wind tightly around her frame, holding her close and pressing his face into her hair. He holds her like her Doctor should hold her and she bites her lip hard to push back the tears because _finally_ this man feels like her husband, like home. “I’m sorry, dear.” He kisses her temple. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

 

She clings to him like a lifeline, face buried in the collar of his dark coat, breathing him in. Spending all this time thinking that one day he wouldn’t even remember her name has been more than she could bear and now that he’s here, holding her in his arms, she feels too overwhelmed to choke out anything but, “Why?”

 

She doesn’t elaborate, cannot bring herself to speak another word, but he knows. The Doctor sighs, his breath rustling her curls. “I know you’re reckless and downright careless as if you’ll live forever but you won’t. One day in your future, you’ll leave me, like everyone does eventually. Not because you want to but because there isn’t another choice you’re prepared to live with.”

 

She swallows hard, shutting her eyes.

 

He holds her just a little tighter, like he can hardly stand to think about it, let alone speak of it. “Being without you was… I decided to forget – new body, new memories, new outlook.” He lifts a hand to her face, thumb sweeping gently over her brow. “I wanted to forget the pain, River, but you must believe I never wanted to forget you.”

 

“Silly old man,” she sniffs, struggling to force back the tears still welling in her eyes. “You can’t have one without the other.”

 

A smile twitches briefly at the corners of his mouth as he gazes down at her. She likes his new mouth. It’s not quite as expressive as the last but she can read so much in one little curl of his lips. “If only you had been there to tell me so, we could have avoided all the unpleasantness and gotten right down to what matters.”

 

“Oh, and what’s that?”

 

He plucks at the necklace resting against her chest, leaning in slowly. “Making more good memories.”

 

Her lips are on his instantly and he doesn’t have to stoop quite as far to kiss her anymore. He threads his hands through her hair without flailing in the slightest, wasting no time with bumbling about or forgetting what to do with his limbs. He seems to know right where he wants them, raking his hands through her hair, sliding them down her back and then just _there_ – resting on the curve of her bum and squeezing.

 

River laughs into his mouth, nipping at his lower lip – thinner, less pouty but just as delicious to suck on. He still shudders when she does it and she wonders idly if all his erogenous zones stay the same from one regeneration to the next – if his eyes will flutter and his leg will kick out like a wayward puppy when she sucks on his earlobe, if he’ll sigh with content when she pets his hair, if he’ll laugh and flush red when she counts his ribs with her fingertips. Her hearts thrill and she kisses him harder. She’ll actually get to find out. And if things have changed for this body, she’ll get to take her time getting to know him all over again. Because he _remembers_.

 

He takes charge of her with terrifying ease, kissing her thoroughly enough to make her knees weak. One of his hands fumbles behind him for the doorknob. His new confidence makes her stomach tighten and she reaches out to blindly help him open the door, muffling a soft laugh into his neck when they stumble inside gracelessly.

 

The door slams shut but they don’t quite manage to make it any further than her foyer, hands already struggling with clothes, the air hot and heavy between them. _God_ , she loves how eager this body seems to be. The last body, bless his hearts, would have insisted on at least the sofa. He always wanted her comfortable first. This one just _wants_ her. It’s an exciting change and River shivers as he unsnaps her bra without fumbling with it once, tossing it away.

 

He sinks to his knees, pulling her knickers with him, and she lifts her foot so he can pull them off, balancing with a hand laced snugly through his gray hair. Once her knickers are tossed away, he stays right where he is, apparently intending to worship at her altar, his mouth dedicated to paying homage to her knees. It tickles and River laughs, following after him and sinking to the floor, yanking his face to hers once more. He sinks into her kiss without hesitation, as if it doesn’t matter what part of her his mouth is on so long as he’s touching her somewhere.

 

He’s rougher now, his hands a little more forceful in her hair, his kiss a little more biting. She likes it. She likes everything about him – no matter the body. Hands framing a softer, less angular face but just as beloved for all the lines it now sports, River eases slowly onto her back and draws her husband down with her, smiling when he follows willingly, hovering over her, naked and hard against her thigh. The floor is cold on her back but she has every confidence he’ll warm her up soon.

 

She traces a curious hand over his face, memorizing the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the smaller and more delicate nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at her – that warmth that had been absent before is finally there now. Her husband gazes back at her, eyes full of love and desire, the way they’ve always looked at her from the moment she met him.

 

This was the first time he looked right through her but it isn’t the last. She tells herself that she’s ready. She knows what to expect now and she’ll be able to steel herself against the shocking ache in her hearts. She survived him forgetting her once. Maybe she’ll survive the next time too.

 

It’s only when he speaks that she realizes she’s been staring at him for quite some time. “Not too old for you?”

 

She watches his brows quirk in amusement and feels her mouth twist in accordance. “Depends.” She lifts her hips, brushing against his erection with a smirk. “Can you still keep up with me?”

 

Despite his new body, they fit just as well as they always have. He feels familiar and brand new all at once and River gasps, hitching a leg over his hip to encourage him closer, deeper – to climb inside her and nestle alongside her bones forever. His breathing wavers and he stops moving, his face buried in her hair. “I don’t understand.”

 

“What?”

 

“How I could ever forget this.”

 

Her eyes fill up again and she blinks rapidly, stroking a soothing hand over the back of his neck. “You had your reasons.”

 

“Don’t.” She can almost hear his teeth grinding together. “Don’t justify my cowardice.”

 

“It wasn’t cowardly. You were hurting. The only thing that matters to me is that you remember now.” She closes her eyes, feeling his lashes flutter against her temple as he holds her close. “Show me, my love. Show me that you remember.”

 

“I’ll do you one better, River Song.” He raises himself up, drawing out of her and sliding back in with just enough force to steal her breath. “I’ll tell you.”

 

He was always a talker before. His former self babbled constantly during sex and she loved it, loved that he kept up a running commentary the entire time he touched her. His constantly active brain couldn’t shut off even then but it was always the cause of much smugness in River that every thought in that maddening mind was devoted to her and her alone in those moments.

 

She never expected it of this Doctor but he always has delighted in surprising her. As his hands show her he remembers exactly how and where to touch her to set her alight and his hips rock steadily against hers, those intense blue eyes never leave her face and that wicked Scottish mouth never stops moving.

 

“I remember you like it when I do this.” His fingers brush her clit, just light enough for her to feel and be left aching for more before he pulls away again.

 

River bites her lip hard, nails digging into his shoulders.

 

“The first time I saw you naked, I forgot every name I’d ever called myself.” His lips trail over her jaw, his voice nearly a whisper. “I cried the first time I made love to you and I spent the whole time not looking at you so you wouldn’t see. But you always know, don’t you, River?”

 

She stares up at him but the Doctor doesn’t look away, his hands in her hair and his eyes open and honest. She realizes with a sudden tightness in her chest that he isn’t holding back any more. No more Rule One. No more hiding the damage. He wants her to see how much she has always meant to him, how fully and completely he loves her even now. River rolls her hips against his and gazes right back. “More.”

 

She isn’t sure if she means his touch or his words. He gives her both.

 

“Your favorite colors are blue like the TARDIS, yellow like sunflowers, and red like your favorite lipstick.” The corners of his eyes wrinkle with mirth. “And gray now, of course.”

 

River bites back a laugh as he ducks his head, licking a long stripe along her throat. She threads her hands through his hair, keeping him close and nuzzling against his temple. He hums like a slightly tetchy feline who never wants to admit it enjoys the affection it so desperately craves. River scratches her fingers over his scalp and smiles.

 

“You never let me touch you on our anniversary until I told you those three little words. The human-y ones that aren’t nearly big enough.” He swallows, nosing at her cheek. “But I’m sorry you had to play games with me to get me to say it.”

 

His hand palms her breast, his thumb flicking teasingly over her nipple. Torn between tears and the need to moan out loud, River surrenders to both at once, overwhelmed by the myriad of emotions this man can draw from her with his mouth and his body. Her whole being feels under fire, assaulted from every angle, unsure if she wants to run or hold him tighter. She always chooses to hold on, sure that if she doesn’t, he’ll slip through her fingers like mist. She never noticed before that he does much the same, pinning her in place with his eyes and his fingers, keeping her right where he can see her.

 

He takes her hands in his, pinning them above her head, a silent reminder that he remembers her love of restraints too. Immediately, River feels her heart rate skyrocket, the twin organs in her chest beating double time at the thought of being at his mercy. She arches beneath him, her nipples brushing his chest every time he thrusts. His eyes fall shut briefly in bliss and she smiles breathlessly.

 

“What else?”

 

His eyes fly open again, focusing on her. His fingers tighten around her own. He slows his frantic thrusts, easing into a slower, harder pace that makes her gasp for air every time he pushes inside. His hips grind against her, his pelvis bruising against her swollen clit. River cries out, aching for more friction, her whole body suddenly tense and burning with the force of her approaching climax.

 

Those eyes never leave her, tracing intently over her face, tracking every flutter of her eyes, every hitching breath, every single minutiae of every expression as she loses sense of herself in him and this and just them, together and whole when she thought she’d lost it for good. And when he’s had his fill, he lowers his head and presses his mouth to her ear, licking his lips. River trembles, feeling his hot breath on her skin. He whispers low and gravelly, “I remember you’re a screamer.”

 

Eyes widening as her body runs hot and cold, River fists her hands in his until her knuckles turn white, arching completely off the floor and into him as she throws her head back and opens her mouth, proving his memory perfect and unfailing.

 

Her shuddering climax pushes the Doctor over the edge of his self-control and he stifles a drawn out moan as she pulses around him. With one last hard thrust, he lets go of her hands and presses his face into the crook of her neck. He sinks his teeth into her flesh hard enough to draw blood, his whole body stiffening with release.

 

River rubs a soothing hand up and down his heaving back, waiting patiently for him to find his way out of his pleasured haze back to the universe again – back to her. Finally, he sags against her, letting her take on all of his weight as he pants out, “And I remember that was always very, _very_ good.”

 

She laughs, feeling light and weightless, like nothing can ever hurt her again.

 

He smiles, sifting a hand through her curls. “I should take you to see Robin Hood – show the ninny what real laughter sounds like.”

 

“Robin Hood?” River squints at him, intrigued. “But he’s just a story. Isn’t he?”

 

He smiles, his hand dropping to the ring on a chain around her neck. “The best people usually are.”


End file.
